


Recommissioned

by Hyliian



Series: Adrift [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes-centric, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dehumanization, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's an ongoing process, Minor Character Death, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Time Travel, Violence, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:25:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7365097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyliian/pseuds/Hyliian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One thing the Asset had known, without its handlers having to tell it so, was that there will <i>always</i> be someone willing to pay to have someone else killed. So far, even in this new world and new time, this had held true. </p>
<p>The Asset had breathed reconnaissance and intelligence-gathering long before it had become the Fist of Hydra. Before the Winter Soldier had been Hydra’s attack dog, it had been Призрак, the Ghost of Russia. </p>
<p>When given an inkling of choice, the Asset would always choose subtlety.</p>
<p>There was a reason the Asset was at its most lethal from miles away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> <i>Sequel to Rewired</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Recommissioned

**Author's Note:**

> _:This is parseltongue.:_
> 
> Forgive my Russian; it's all from google. Translations at the bottom.

The Asset is motionless. Its breaths are slow and even, its heartbeat soft and nigh-nonexistent. Its enhanced body is capable of slowing its own blood in its veins if necessary. The Arm makes no sound, plates locked to provide support to the Dragunov in place of a stand. Nagini is snake-still around its throat and shoulders, scales skin-warmed and silent as death. The Asset is a ghost, as it should be.

Through the scope on the Dragunov, the Asset tracks a man as he crosses a busy street. The Asset will not be seen. It is 2.83 kilometers from the target and fifteen stories off the ground.

The Asset breathes in slowly as the target looks down to frown at his watch.

On the exhale, its finger twitches on the trigger and the man drops in the street like a puppet with its strings cut, throat an explosion of gore. There is a heartbeat of stunned stillness from the surrounding civilians before panic consumes everyone present.

The Asset slides smoothly to its feet and disassembles the Dragunov, stowing it in its bag. Nagini stirs from its snake-stillness and ripples its muscles to waken them, not complaining audibly about the period of prolonged stillness it had been forced into.

The Asset swiftly makes its way off of the rooftop and scales down the building, Nagini locked around its neck and the bag around its shoulders. They will need to meet with the contractor at the designated drop point within three hours of the contract being fulfilled, and the Asset is never late.

One thing the Asset had known, without its handlers having to tell it so, was that there will _always_ be someone willing to pay to have someone else killed. So far, even in this new world and new time, this had held true.

It had not been difficult to locate work. The Asset might have been Hydra’s sledgehammer, but for decades before that it had been the Motherland’s scalpel. Espionage was welded into its bones alongside the titanium-vibranium mixture of the Arm and the metal replacing much of its skeletal structure. The Asset had breathed reconnaissance and intelligence-gathering long before it had become the Fist of Hydra. Before the Winter Soldier had been Hydra’s attack dog, it had been Призрак, the Ghost of Russia.

When given an inkling of choice, the Asset would always choose subtlety.

There was a reason the Asset was at its most lethal from miles away.

_:Nagini is impressed,:_ Nagini whispers from its shoulders, inaudible to unenhanced ears. It was a volume the Asset had carefully coached Nagini into using when around civilians. Nagini had performed to satisfactory results. _:Nagini could not see what the Soldier was aiming at, but Nagini is sure the Soldier hit it.:_

The Asset allowed itself two seconds of _Emotion: Pride_ before shelving the sensation for further contemplation. This was neither the time nor place to be allowing its rewired protocols for dealing with emotion to surface.

They arrived at the designated drop point thirteen minutes after the target dropped in the crosswalk. The Asset was able to move significantly faster than most city-bound automobiles when uninjured, and had enough time to do three sweeps of the surrounding area for traps or bugs before the client pulled up in a nondescript silver car.

The Asset watched the client from its perch on an adjacent rooftop, superior eyesight easily picking out details from such close distance. It waited ten minutes before confirming that the client had not contacted authorities or planned to betray it.

The Asset descended the building and ghosted to stand in parade rest behind its client, feeling a slight stirring of faint amusement before it set the sensation aside. The Asset remained motionless and silent for four minutes before the client happened to glance to one side and catch sight of it out of the corner of his eye.

The resulting full-body flinch and quiet squeak were enough to have the Asset smile slightly beneath its mask. The Asset did not react when the two bodyguards whirled and fumbled weapons from holsters. It flicked its eyes over them and counted twenty-four ways to disarm and eliminate them before their fingers could pull the trigger before summarily dismissing them.

“Ah, Soldier, there you are,” the client breathed, straightening and fixing his collar as he attempted to regain control of the situation. “I take it the situation has been… handled?”

“Да,” the Asset replies, thickening its accent. The most successful deceptions were always rooted in truth; the Asset did not have an accent, but the Winter Soldier _did_. “Target is устранен. How you say… eliminated.” It was good to let the client underestimate its intelligence. Being only passably ‘fluent’ in English would be an acceptable start.

“Good, good,” the client nodded, smirking.

He nodded towards one of the guards and they produced a briefcase full of gold bullion. The Soldier stared at it for a fraction of a heartbeat, incredulous at the blatant cliché, before it set it aside and tipped its head towards the ground. The guard obliged and set the case down before stepping back behind the client, fingers twitching around his gun.

The client reached into a pocket and withdrew a cigarette, which he proceeded to light and draw from contemplatively. The Asset felt a deep ache in its lungs, which it clinically identified as a _craving_. The Asset decided it would purchase a cigarette in the future if the sensation persisted. There were no handlers to tell it to abstain, and its lungs would heal from any damage before it could impair functionality.

“Pleasure doing business with you, comrade,” the client grinned, teeth white and straight, before he climbed back into the car with his guards. The Asset was on the next rooftop watching them leave before the client could look out the window again.

The Asset placed the case into its bag. It had memorized the locations of several possible places to exchange the bullion for more useful currency, and had already established six different caches of previous earnings around the city, just in case.

It never hurt to be prepared.

\---

The Asset had a dilemma. It studied the lit cigarette grasped carefully in its metal fingers, and the concealing mask clutched in its flesh hand. It could not simultaneously protect its identity and indulge itself with nicotine; one would have to be sacrificed in order to perform the opposite function. The decision was more difficult than it realistically should have been, but…

But this was not its time. It was not its country of origin. The Asset had its doubts that this was even its _world_. No one was going to recognize the face of the Winter Soldier, and any who did could be discreetly taken care of. Drawing on the cigarette seemed _correct_ in a way very few things were. It was _correct_ in the way firing a gun was _correct_ , in the way focusing itself into perfect stillness while watching a target through a sniper’s scope was _correct_.

It would retain the protective goggles, the Asset decided. And it would keep the mask inside its vest in case it needed to further conceal its identity. But the ability to keep the cigarette clenched in its teeth and its lungs full of smoke outweighed the potential to be identified or recognized by denizens of an alternate world.

Nagini said the smoke tasted terrible, and complained incessantly. The Asset took Nagini to _Contact: Rune Master_ and had an air-filtering rune burned into one of its metal bands, and the complaints ceased. The Asset recognized the potential of this, and had a similar rune—carefully inscribed to avoid nullifying its newfound addiction—added to the Arm. _Contact: Rune Master_ was agreeable to being paid in gold bullion.

The Asset took good care of it weapons.

It grinned around the cigarette in its teeth, the expression unfamiliar and exposed and _correct_ , and exhaled a cloud of smoke into Nagini’s unimpressed face.

\---  
\---

Alastor had heard the rumors. That there was some sort of Russian super-assassin for hire in the muggle world wouldn’t ordinarily draw his attention, but the reports of a ring of _runes_ on the man’s _metal arm_ certainly did. A few inconspicuous bouts of legilimency and some careful obliviates gave the auror the full story.

Because that was the anchor point for a Null-Ward, the sort of thing that would make the Ministry brown their trousers if it was ever found on the body of a muggle. Alastor snorted at the thought of it.

This Russian ghost _also_ matched the description a few of the captured Death Eaters had given of the muggle warrior You-Know-Who had briefly had in his ‘employ.’ The popular theory amidst the idiots was that You-Know-Who had had the man under _Imperius_ , using him as an attack dog and guard dog in equal measure. The skill level of the man varied from idiot to idiot, but they could all agree that he was inhumanly fast, killed on command, and was as emotionless as a brick wall.

The snake rumored to always hang around the Russian ghost’s shoulders helped cinch it. Alastor had had a good laugh to himself at the thought of some brainwashed muggle breaking the _Imperius_ and stealing You-Know-Who’s familiar on his way out. That was the kind of thing that took bullocks of _steel_ , and Alastor was inclined to give the man a good clap on the back for pulling it off, assassin or no.

But that wasn’t why he was here, lurking suspiciously in a dark corner where his contacts in the muggle world had said he could contract the man known only as ‘the Soldier.’ The Null-Ward and the snake suggested the man was at least passably familiar with the wizarding world—and possibly carrying a grudge of epic proportions against the dark wizards who’d captured him—and at this point Alastor was far beyond waiting for Albus or the Ministry to get their shit together and start authorizing lethal countermeasures.

Alastor stilled, decades of paranoia and hair-trigger reflexes pinning him in place as he became abruptly aware that he was _not alone_. His eye whirled in its socket, seeing nothing but knowing that there was someone nearby who had managed to sneak up on him. He very carefully did not pull his wand, the ‘taste’ of the regard feeling detached and mechanical—he remembered the reports of impossible shots from impossible distances, and wondered if this was what it felt like to be under the scope of a sniper.

“волшебник,” came a deep, rough voice from directly behind him.

Alastor whirled, incredulous and hackles up as his eye failed him for the first time since he’d had it implanted. Then he froze, every hair lifting on his arms and neck as his instincts _screamed_ at him.

The Russian ghost was tall and broad, built unlike anyone Alastor had ever seen in person. He was thickly muscled and covered head to toe in black leather, and on his back was a long sniper’s rifle. Alastor could count four knives and three handguns visible on his person—with the eye failing him like this, he wouldn’t be surprised if there were more.

Around the man’s throat and shoulders was a massive black serpent with yellow eyes, flicking its tongue at him and hissing slow and rhythmic, the sort of cadence not usually applied to wild animals but easily recognizable to anyone passably familiar with parseltongue. There were two bands of metal around the snake’s neck behind its head glowing with runes, and Alastor recognized a Null-Ward and an Impervious ward, both of which were incredibly troubling to find on You-Know-Who’s familiar.

And then there was the arm. One sleeve of the armor had been torn off, leaving the entire arm exposed, shoulder to fingers, entirely gleaming metal. There was a red star up on the upper plates, around which were the Null-Ward anchor runes which were glowing red to match it—the likely culprit for his malfunctioning eye.

The man had a cigarette tucked between his teeth which he rolled with his tongue occasionally, and a set of black goggles hiding his eyes. His hair was long and lank, and there was a few days’ worth of stubble hiding his face.

Alastor’s inspection had taken two and a half seconds.

The twist to the Russian’s lips led Alastor to believe he, too, had been inspected, but that the man had finished first and waited for Alastor to catch up.

“волшебник,” the man repeated, as if in confirmation. “You seek Зимний солдат? The Winter Soldier?” The accent was thick and unmistakable. At least something about the rumors was right. “What business does a wizard have with the Soldier?”

“Need to clean up the streets, boy,” Alastor growled, eye whirling as he made sure they were alone. It was disturbing to have the magical eye pass right over the man without seeing him or the snake around his shoulders. “Death Eaters coming out of the woodwork and no one’s got the stones to take them out. Figured you might have a bone to pick with Big Bad if the price was right.”

The Soldier’s expression stilled. There was something innately unnatural about how still he was standing, about the way the only thing that moved was the smoke curling from his lips—he didn’t even seem to be breathing.

“Лорд Слизерин?” the Soldier stirred into life again, rolling the cigarette between clenched teeth. “You seek the death of Lord Slytherin?”

Alastor’s blood chilled. If the Russian was calling You-Know-Who _Lord Slytherin_ , then maybe he hadn’t quite shaken the _Imperius_ after all. He carefully fingered his wand, feeling the weight of that hidden stare like a tangible thing.

The snake around the man’s neck lifted its head and hissed something, loud and urgent. The Russian tilted his head towards the serpent and nodded as if in assent. Was the muggle a parselmouth?

“Лорд Слизерин is no longer our handler,” the Russian mused aloud, almost more to the snake than to him, muscles languid and deceptively relaxed. Alastor didn’t doubt that the man could snap his neck before he even registered movement. The snake spat something back, and Alastor carefully did not let on how much the idea that the two of them were _communicating_ across languages bothered him. “Following him is not the logical choice.”

The snake set its head back down, flicking its tongue out several times before it went still and silent, unresisting. The Russian refocused his attention on Alastor, who stood at attention.

“You will pay, да? The Soldier does not work for free.”

Alastor nodded gruffly. “A hundred galleons for every Death Eater and five for You-Know-Who himself. Dead or alive. Dead, preferably,” Alastor tacked on. The Ministry—and Albus—wouldn’t be happy, but there were some people who just genuinely needed to die. If they kept giving the bastards second chances, more innocent people were going to pay the price of their ‘mercy’. That might have been acceptable to Albus Holier-Than-Thou Dumbledore, but not to Alastor Moody.

The Soldier mulled that over for a few seconds. “Очень хорошо. The Soldier will make an example of the меньшие активы. It remembers their faces.”

And then the Russian grinned, all sharp white teeth and lupine viciousness, smoke curling up from his throat. It was like being grinned at by a hungry dragon.

Alastor smiled grimly back.

\---  
\---

The Asset— _the Winter Soldier, the Russian Ghost_ —twitched its finger on the trigger of the Dragunov and dropped another lesser asset to the ground of Knockturn Alley. Its impression of their collective intelligence was at an all-time low; this marked target number twenty-seven, all executed in the same general vicinity and in the same general manner, and not a single one had taken the warning for what it was and avoided the area. Even Nagini was unimpressed, and the serpent rarely paid attention to what the Asset was doing when it was working.

The Asset did not feel regret for culling the lesser assets. It had wanted to do so the moment they had been introduced to it, and there was no lingering loyalty tying it to Lord Slytherin. Nagini was far more reluctant, but it rallied admirably once the facts were explained to it in a logical manner.

_Client: Auror Moody_ was prompt with delivering payments for the targets dropped, leaving bags of galleons—useless in the real world, but viable enough to pay _Contact: Rune Master_ for his services—at their initial meeting site the day after a lesser asset was taken out. The Asset was 78% certain that it would be unable to kill Lord Slytherin as easily as it was doing the lesser assets, but a general without an army was far less dangerous than a general with one.

Lord Slytherin’s ranks were not like Hydra. Cutting off one head did not cause multiples to sprout from the bleeding stumps; Lord Slytherin was the _only_ head, which was very inefficient, but he was well-guarded and aware of the Asset’s capabilities. He was also supremely skilled with the Unforgivables, and would require execution at great range. The Asset made a note to scout the area around Lord Slytherin’s manor for a good sniper’s post with line-of-sight through the huge decorative windows.

The glass was likely spelled to be shatterproof, but the Asset was confident that _Contact: Rune Master_ could do something to its ammunition in order to fix that particular issue.

The Asset was ever pleased with its decision to collect the man for its own use, and vindicated in its choice not to execute him as a potential witness. It would visit _Contact: Rune Master_ for viable solutions to piercing the protections around Lord Slytherin once it had ascertained that the majority of its lesser assets had been removed.

The Asset watched as the alley reacted—or didn’t—to the sudden death of the lesser asset below. One of the ones with sharp teeth frisked the corpse and came away with a pouch of galleons, which he pocketed before moving on without a word. A small group of the hunched ones which its research had named ‘hags’—appropriate, if rude—bustled forward and began removing limbs. The Asset didn’t stop them. The ‘hags’ would leave the head and left arm alone, and that was all that was required to make a positive identification for _Client: Auror Moody_ to provide payment.

The Asset quickly left the alley via the rooftops, liberating a discarded newspaper from a bin in the normal side of London for the date. It was important to keep on top of events and times, especially now that it no longer had handlers to provide such information before missions.

The Asset glanced over the date and idly made note that it was Halloween tomorrow. Its research had painted this as an important holiday in both the normal and magical worlds, being the time of year most magical families updated their wards. This meant there would be a moment where the protections around Lord Slytherin were weak enough to scout without threat of discovery or retaliation.

The Asset began to plan.

\---

_:Old Master is not inside his den,:_ came Nagini’s prompt report as it climbed back up to the Asset’s shoulders. Nagini was still ‘keyed’ into the wards around Lord Slytherin, and the Null-Ward band had fixed any holes that might have alerted anyone to its presence.

The Asset crouched in its perch half a kilometer from the manor—at the edge of the wardline—and considered this new information. Lord Slytherin, had he been acting with full mental capacity, would not have eschewed the opportunity to strengthen his wards, especially not when he knew the Asset was coming for him.

Of course, Lord Slytherin had not been acting at full mental capacity for almost a year. That was why the Asset had felt compelled to ‘abandon ship’ as the saying went, after all.

The Asset made another perimeter check of the wards, locating the weak points and discreetly testing the windows of a room the Asset knew Lord Slytherin never ventured into for their strength, pleased when the upgraded ammunition _Contact: Rune Master_ had provided ignored the spells on them and broke through as if the glass were perfectly mundane.

It waited a further four hours before deciding that Lord Slytherin would not be returning in time to update his wards, which served the Asset just fine. It quietly left the property for the safe house it had appropriated a few kilometers away; there was no rush to take out Lord Slytherin, after all. The Asset was patient. It could afford to wait.

\---

The Asset stared at the newspaper lifted from Diagon Alley with blank incomprehension. It had been startled at the sudden explosion of fireworks—visible even from its position far from civilization—of obvious magical origin that had begun around midnight, and determined that acquiring intel was more important than staking out Lord Slytherin’s manor.

It had been correct.

But this? The Asset furrowed its brow as it chewed idly on its cigarette. “It does not understand,” the Asset admitted to Nagini. The snake could not read English writing, but the Asset had dictated the article aloud and the snake had been equally baffled by the contents.

_:Neither does Nagini,:_ it hissed. _:Old Master was killed by a baby? Nagini thought Old Master was better than that.:_ Nagini grumbled a few times under its breath as the Asset reread the article for the sixth time. _:Nagini could have sworn Old Master was powerful. Maybe Nagini was mistaken?:_

No, the Asset was 98.76% certain that Lord Slytherin could be safely classified as powerful. The article claimed Lord Slytherin had attempted to execute the infant with an Unforgiveable, but that the spell ‘backfired’ and destroyed him instead. The implications of this were more far-reaching than the wizarding populace seemed to grasp.

This meant there was an absolute defense against the killing curse, which not even a field of anti-magic could successfully block. The Asset could care less that the boy was now considered some sort of hero, or that he’d ‘ended the war’ in infancy. The Asset only cared that there was someone out there who had a resistance to the Unforgivables that, frankly, the Asset needed for itself.

This also meant that the boy was, at the age of fifteen months, more powerful than Lord Slytherin. The Asset needed to acquire this child as soon as was humanly possible; he would be an asset of great worth when he aged enough to be of use, especially if his resistance to the killing curse was something that could be learned or passed on.

The only road block would be locating him. The article claimed that a ‘Headmaster Dumbledore’— _Target: Dumbledore. Secondary Alias: Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump. Threat Level: 7_ —refused to disclose the boy’s location ‘for his own safety.’ This implied that _Target: Dumbledore_ knew where the boy was—was, in fact, the only one who did—and had likely placed him there himself for his own reasons.

These reasons likely did not coincide with the Asset’s, and for that they needed to be circumvented.

The likelihood that _Target: Dumbledore_ had kept the child in the wizarding world was 14.5%. It would be easier for _Target: Dumbledore_ to keep the child hidden in the normal world, since most wizards were useless at navigating or blending in there.

The Asset felt its lips curl at the edges.

It was a good thing the Asset specialized in finding things in the normal world, then.

\---

It took the Asset eight days, seven hours, twenty-four minutes and forty-five seconds to locate the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’—a ridiculous moniker; every child who drew breath was a ‘boy who lived’—seeing as all that was required was tracing the nearest living relative of _Designation: Lily Potter_ out into the normal world.

This led the Asset to Privet Drive, and—more specifically—to the Dursley family. The Asset could feel the Null-Ward heating up in reaction to the presence of wards, but the Asset did not feel it actively repelling or dispelling anything. The Asset took this to mean the wards were geared towards magicals, and since the Asset was not magical they were not reacting.

A large oversight, but one the Asset was willing to exploit.

A few hours of reconnaissance made the Asset question its intel, as it did not see any evidence of the existence of a second child outside of the Dursleys’ son. The Asset waited until it was late enough and all sound from the house was silent before breaking in, ghosting through the halls searching for further information.

Nagini was tense on its shoulders, tongue flicking out as it tasted the air. The Asset stood quietly in the living room as it waited for Nagini to collect information that the Asset could not.

_:There,:_ Nagini finally whispered, pointing with its head towards a small door under the staircase. _:There is a small heat-form inside.:_

The Asset crouched by the door and silently took in the multitude of locks gracing the outside of it. It deftly undid them as quietly as it could and pried open the door, staring at the sight revealed to it. There was a small dark-haired child lying on a tiny cot shoved in the back of the closet. The child was dirty, and there was evidence that no one had washed or changed it in days.

The Asset stilled as it quickly calculated this new information into its programming.

_Child Status: Neglected. Child Health: Poor. Child Sanitation: Poor. Child Nutrition: Unknown, Suspected Poor. Situation: Untenable. Primary Mission: Investigation of Unforgivable Resistance—Reclassify: Secondary Mission._

_Primary Mission: Preservation of Child._

Decided, the Asset carefully lifted the dirty child off the cot and held it in its flesh arm, keeping the Arm ready for attack or defense. The child woke briefly, bright green eyes looking up at the Asset’s masked face and hidden gaze, did not react, and went back to sleep.

The Asset ascended the staircase and stood in the room where the Dursleys were resting. It considered the state it had found the child in, and considered the way it had observed the other child being treated and spoiled.

The Asset knew thirty-seven ways to kill the Dursleys in their sleep without waking them or the child in its flesh arm. If it were not concerned with keeping them asleep, the number jumped to fifty-four. It settled for slitting their throats with inhuman swiftness and leaving the room before their quiet gurgles or thrashing disturbed the child in its flesh arm. It paused in the doorway to the Dursley child’s room and tilted its head.

The Asset left the boy and went to the living room, lifting the telephone from its cradle. It dialed 999 and waited for the line to be picked up.

It spoke over the technician who responded, allowing its accent to thicken and its voice to deepen for further disguise.

“Свиньи мертвы. Приходите для ребенка.”

The Asset hung up. The authorities would find the slovenly child and locate a handler for it. What happened to it after that was none of the Asset’s concern.

_:This is the one who killed Old Master?:_ Nagini asked once they were clear of the neighborhood. It flicked its tongue at the child a few times. _:It smells terrible.:_

“Its handlers treated it poorly,” the Asset explained as it returned to its nearest safe house. “It was essential to extract it before permanent damage was accrued.”

_:Acknowledged,:_ Nagini replied. It understood the Asset’s reasoning.

The Asset set the child on the cot it had been using for recharge, standing above it and contemplating this new development. It had wanted to acquire the child for its use, of course, but not at this age. The Asset knew precisely nothing about caring for a child. Nagini, as a serpent, would be equally unhelpful in this endeavor.

The Asset was not unaware of what it was. It was a weapon, a ghost, a gun to be aimed at enemies. What it was not was a caretaker. The closest the Asset had gotten to parenthood would be when it had trained its little spiders, but it doubted the methods used there would be practical here. It had killed four of its six spiders on orders from its handler at the time, and the only reason the other two had survived was because it had pretended not to notice them escaping.

It could not afford to treat the child like it had its spiders. The Asset frowned down at the child. It would need to do research on proper child-raising protocols until the child was at a more functional age. Then it could begin investigating the resistance to the killing curse as was defined by the _Secondary Mission_.

Decided, the Asset settled against the wall nearest the cot to watch over the child as he slept. The Asset would not require recharge for a further twenty-six hours; it could afford to keep watch.

\---  
\---

Melissa watched as the single most intimidating man she’d ever seen walked into the store. He was dressed rather unassumingly in black jeans and a long-sleeved grey shirt, with a pair of work gloves hiding his hands and some pretty impressive leather boots on his feet. He looked like a biker, or one of those mobsters who stood outside of doors with crossed arms and deep frowns.

And, of course, there was the fact that he was carrying a baby in one arm as if it were an American football. The kid didn’t seem distressed or afraid, which was pretty surprising considering the guy had all the facial expressions of a serial killer. It was a cute kid, though, Melissa had to admit. All big fluffy hair and pretty green eyes.

The man turned and his attention locked on Melissa like a laser, the weight of his regard thick and almost tangible. She felt herself stiffen and the only reason she didn’t go for the distress button under the register was the kid he was carrying.

Tall-and-Dangerous stalked towards the counter, expression foreboding, and stared down and through her as if he were contemplating what her kidneys would taste like.

“It requires supplies for the child,” the man informed her in a surprisingly thick Russian accent. Not a local, then.

Melissa pasted on her best customer service smile. “Sure thing. We’ve got food, diapers, a few toys in the back, I think…” she trailed off as she took in the unchanging expression on Russian-Mobster’s face. It was like she speaking in Greek to the poor guy. “I’m guessing you just need a bit of everything, then.”

“Да.”

Melissa knew enough Russian from pop culture and old mafia movies to know what that word meant, so she plastered her smile back on and headed around the counter to lead Dangerous-Russian-Mobster to the baby aisle. She quickly found out that Russian-Mobster-Guy didn’t know the first thing about childcare, and glared at the numerous options on display as if they personally offended him, so she simply picked out the brands she recognized from commercials and put them in a basket for him.

By the time she was pretty sure they’d found everything he’d need to take care of the kid in his arm, Melissa felt overwhelmed on his behalf. The guy himself didn’t seem concerned about the monumental undertaking he was gearing up for, so she let herself pity him a little. That naivety of his sure wouldn’t last long. She had nephews she’d babysat before; she knew what was up.

She bagged everything up for him and handed them over as he paid in cash. Weird, but maybe Russians didn’t believe in credit cards. She watched as he left with the baby still in his arm, and had the vague thought that she’d just dodged a pretty big Russian-shaped bullet there.

At least the kid had been cute.

\---  
\---

The Asset retrieved Nagini from where he’d left it alongside its weapons and retreated to the safe house. Having obtained supplies for _Primary Mission: Preservation of Child_ the Asset quickly produced sustenance for the child and fed it with moderate success. It had gathered educational materials in the form of various magazines and childcare books, and set itself to the task of memorizing them as Nagini entertained the child.

The Asset withdrew a cigarette and clenched it between its teeth, but carefully did not light it. The educational materials insisted that smoking around an infant was not to be tolerated, and so it refrained. It glanced at the child, watching how Nagini weaved around it in an attempt to keep it occupied. So far it was achieving satisfactory results.

The educational materials stressed the importance of acclimating the child to its name. The article had designated the child as ‘Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.’ The Asset would not call the child by that ridiculous moniker, but it would perhaps be wise to let the child grow accustomed to being called by its name. The Asset did not have a name, but the child was not an asset yet. Then again, Nagini had a name and Nagini was also an asset.

“Nagini,” the Asset began before it could talk itself out of it. “Who assigned your designation?”

Nagini looked over at it and tasted the air. _:Nagini named itself,:_ it responded after a moment. _:Nagini wanted to be more than a serpent, and so Nagini gave itself a name.:_

The Asset puzzled over this as Nagini went back to weaving around the child. Nagini had assigned itself a name. A _name_ , not a designation. The Asset had a _Designation: Winter Soldier_ , but the Asset did not have a name. ‘Soldier’ was not a publicly acceptable name. Neither was ‘Asset.’ If the Asset intended to move smoothly through the normal world—as would be necessary to acquire supplies for the care of the child—it would require a name.

Nagini had assigned its own name. Nagini was an asset of superior skill and quality, and it had given itself a name. Nagini had wanted to be _more_.

The Asset watched the snake and the boy as it considered this. Did the Asset want to be _more_? The Asset was a weapon. Weapons did not have names. But weapons did not assign their own missions or develop their own protocols, either. The Asset would always be a weapon, this it knew. But, perhaps, it could also be _more_?

The Asset rolled the cigarette between its teeth as it considered. Having a name had not impaired Nagini’s functionality in any noticeable way. The Asset studied the child again. It would be acting in the place of the child’s parent until it was of useful age. Perhaps it could assume the name of the child’s original father? That would be the most logical choice; the child might be comforted by the subconscious familiarity, and one name was as good as another to the Asset.

“James,” the Asset tested aloud, something humming deep in its throat as the name left its lips. The name was _correct_. It had not expected the name to be _correct_. “James,” the Asset repeated, more certain this time. “Its name is James.”

Nagini looked over at it. _:The Soldier has named itself James?:_ Nagini clarified. The Asset nodded. _:Nagini approves.:_

The Asset watched silently for a few moments more, rolling the name over in its mind. It did not feel different now that it had assigned itself a name. Its functionality had not lowered. Its programming had not faltered at this inclusion of new data. Something in the Asset uncoiled at the lack of deterioration experienced.

The Asset had a _name_. The Asset was _more_.

_Reclassified: Asset—James. Designation: Winter Soldier. Status: Functional._

James leaned back against the wall as it watched Nagini tire the child enough for it to sleep. It waited as Nagini resumed its favored spot around its shoulders and considered the name it had given itself.

Its name was James. James was not the name of a weapon, or a ghost, or a finely-honed blade. James was the name of a person who was occasionally a weapon when he needed to be. Could it also be a person? Could it be an asset and a person? Were the two mutually exclusive? Did giving itself the name of a person make it a person as well?

“Nagini,” James asked, “is James a person?”

Nagini stilled for a moment before swerving its head around to hover in front of its face. _:James was always a person,:_ Nagini replied slowly, as if confused. _:James is a human. Being a human makes James a person. Did James not know this?:_

James considered this. Was humanity the only requirement to being a person? This seemed like a very inefficient way to quantify personhood.

_:James is the Soldier. The Soldier is James. The Soldier is a person. James is a person. They are not different.:_ Nagini flicked its tongue and tightened its coils around its shoulders. _:People make choices. James makes choices. The Soldier makes choices. Making choices makes James a person.:_

So the qualifications of being a person were to be human and be capable of making choices. James mulled this over a few times, finding it fit its own definitions pretty well. James was human—it had two arms and two legs and a head and all the correct internal organs—and James made choices—it assigned its own missions and chose its own handlers—and so James was a person.

Something tumbled into place in its head with an almost audible _click_.

James was a person.

James was the Asset, was the Winter Soldier, was the Ghost of Russia. James was _human_ , James _made choices_ , James _had a name_.

It… James was a _person_. It—he—it—James was a weapon, was a loaded gun, was a shadow in a black room, but it—he—James—the Soldier was also a person. And people weren’t things. People were people. People were _her_ and _he_ and _they_ and _we_. People were—

_“I had ‘em on the ropes—”_

_“Sure you did, punk. You definitely had ‘em right where ya wanted ‘em, yeah?”_

—free and people didn’t have handlers but people were—

_“James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant, 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8… James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant, 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8… James Buchanan Barnes—”_

—people—

_Don’t let me fall Stevie please Steve oh God don’tletmefall—_

—people _fell_ and they got back up again because people _chose_ to get up again, they weren’t picked up and hollowed out and turned into monsters because people—

_There’s blood in the snow why is there blood in the snow the snow is supposed to be white but it’s red so much red everywhere where is his arm what happened to his arm he can’t see it but he can feel his fingers twitching but he has no fingers because he has no arm but his fingers are twitching why can he feel them when he has no arm—_

—people are human and James is human is a person is the Asset is the Winter Soldier is—

\---

_ERROR. Data Corrupt. Cognitive Process: Impaired. Functionality: Substandard. Recalibrating._  
[Reset to Template?]  
NO.  
[Reformat?]  
NO.  
Primary Directive: Preservation of Asset.  
Breach of Primary Directive. Damage to Asset. Recalibrating.  
Classification, Winter Soldier. Classification, James.  
Reclassified: Person. Reclassified: Asset. Recalibrating.  
[Remove Corrupted Data?]  
…  
[Remove Corrupted Data?]

\---

James opened his eyes. It was dark outside. Nagini was coiled on the cot next to the child, watching him through glowing yellow eyes. James was a person. James was a weapon. James was both. He was _more_. He was a _he_.

James was the Winter Soldier. This would never change. He was programmed to be the Asset, to be the knife in dark alleys and the gun in crowded rooms. He chose to be more than that. There were no handlers here. There was no Chair. There was no one who knew how to reprogram him except himself. He had the choice of his own programming.

James decided that he liked having choices.

_:Is James a person again?:_ Nagini called from across the room. _:James was not James before. James was nothing. Is James something again?:_

“James is something,” James agreed. “He is a person again.”

Nagini tasted the air a few times. _:Affirmative. James_ is _again.:_

James _is_. He found this very accurate. He reached into a pocket of his tactical gear and withdrew a cigarette, clenching it between his teeth but not lighting it. Buying the cigarettes was a _choice_ , James realized. It was a _preference_. Weapons did not have preferences. People did.

James looked over at Nagini and the child. He knew sixteen ways to kill both of them within the next three seconds with minimal effort and negligible sound. He chose not to. He was the handler and the Asset, the trigger and the hand holding the gun. He was James and the Winter Soldier.

He rolled to his feet and prowled towards the cot, settling against the wall nearest the sleeping child and Nagini, who transferred itself to his shoulders. James studied the serpent as it settled itself, making contented hissing sounds as it stole his body heat.

“Nagini is also a person,” James decided aloud. Nagini lifted its head and stared at him. “Nagini is not human, but Nagini makes choices. Making choices makes Nagini a person.”

Nagini flickered its tongue several times in its version of rapid blinking. _:Nagini has never been a person before.:_ Nagini coiled closer. _:James thinks Nagini is really a person? Nagini is not just a snake? Not just an asset? Nagini is more?:_

“Nagini is more,” James confirmed. James recalled lesser asset Severus referring to Nagini as female. _Reclassified: Nagini—Female._ “She is a person.”

_:She,:_ Nagini repeated faintly. _:Nagini is she? Nagini is… She is a person? Even though she is not human?:_

James lifted his flesh hand and stroked Nagini’s scales in the proven manner. Something tugged at James’s throat, and when he spoke it was in a voice he did not recognize. “You’re human enough for me, doll.”

Nagini tucked her head into James’s neck. _:Nagini thanks James. She is a person. She is finally more. She has always wanted to be more.:_

“Nagini is more,” James repeated, in his own voice once again. He contemplated the glitch in his speech earlier before dismissing it. Functionality was not impaired. He would recalibrate later.

James breathed quietly as Nagini stilled into sleep around his neck and the child shuffled around in the dark. He did not feel terribly different. But he _was_. He _was_ in a way that he hadn’t been before becoming a person.

Being a person was confusing.

James grinned around the cigarette in his teeth, the expression _correct_.

But it was worth it.

\---

_[Remove Corrupted Data?]_  
NO. Classify, Corrupted Data: Memory. Status: Saved. Recalibrating.  
[Save Confirmed. Recovering Corrupted Data. Progress: 3%]  
Acknowledged.

**Author's Note:**

> Призрак - Ghost  
> Да - Yes  
> устранен - eliminated  
> волшебник - wizard  
> Зимний солдат - Winter soldier  
> Лорд Слизерин - Lord Slytherin  
> Очень хорошо - Very good  
> меньшие активы - lesser assets (literally, smaller assets)  
> Свиньи мертвы. Приходите для ребенка. - The pigs are dead. Come for the child.


End file.
